


Lunch Hour

by RoseisaRoseisaRose



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Academy phase, F/M, background Dorte the horse, but like, fluff and flakes, in a fun way, marianne and dimitri are socially awkward disasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26904304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseisaRoseisaRose/pseuds/RoseisaRoseisaRose
Summary: Marianne skips meals to avoid talking to people. Dimitri skips lunch to find Marianne.Written for the Felannie discord drabble challenge; this week's prompt was "Dining Hall."
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund
Comments: 13
Kudos: 61
Collections: Those Who Drabble in the Dark





	Lunch Hour

Fruit and herring tarts were meant to be eaten over a table. And probably with a fork. Marianne realized this now, but it was too late.

She took another bite of a tart, and flaky pastry went flying everywhere – down her dress, over her hands, onto the sawdusty ground beneath her. At least no one would notice the latter, she figured. And if Dorte would have a nice snack if they let him walk this way later.

She looked mournfully towards Dorte’s stall. She could have sat against the stall, or even inside it, instead of curling up against a stack of boxes at the end of the stables just out of his sight. But she hadn’t had time to grab an apple when she’d rushed out of the dining commons that afternoon, and it seemed cruel to eat in front of him without offering him anything. And to her knowledge, Dorte didn’t like fruit and herring tarts. Not as much as he liked apples, at any rate.

“Marianne? Are you – okay?”

Flakes of pastry crust flew around Marianne as she yanked the tart away from her while halfway through her next bite.

“Hello, Dimitri,” she said, although between the bite of pastry, her hand covering her mouth, and the way he seemed to loom six feet above her, she wasn’t sure he heard. She swallowed and tried again. “I’m fine.”

He sat on a box across from her, shifting uncomfortably as he looked down at her. “It’s just . . . you rushed out of the dining hall awfully fast. Is anything wrong?”

“Oh,” Marianne looked down. “It’s nothing.”

She’d arrived at the dining hall early. She always tried to get there early, or to wait until they were almost done serving food for the day. She had been rewarded for her efforts by finding a table completely empty, and had taken a seat so out of the way and unnoticeable that she was sure she’d get through all of lunch without having to talk to anyone.

But the season had brought visitors to Garreg Mach; an unlucky convergence of merchants heading east and diplomats heading south and pilgrims simply heading to the monastery itself. Marianne had watched the dining hall fill around her as the clock struck noon – first slowly, then quickly, and then there were so many people and they were spacing themselves out and her empty table suddenly wasn’t unnoticeable, but extremely enticing for anyone looking for a spot.

“I just didn’t want to take anyone’s seat,” she told Dimitri, still not looking up. It had been a group of priestesses walking by that had finally done it. Holy women always asked polite questions, and slightly more nosy follow-up questions, and, worst of all, always seemed to want to hear her answers. “I was almost done, anyway,” she added.

She looked up at the thud, and saw Dimitri sliding off his perch on a box to sit on the ground across from her.

“I can see that,” he said, not unkindly, but perhaps with a hint of amusement in his voice. Marianne hastily tried to brush crumbs off her skirt but just seemed to rub grease into the fabric. Dimitri frowned. “I think they want us to eat our meals in the dining hall, you know.”

“Oh,” Marianne said. “Is that a rule? I’m sorry. I’m not good at . . .things.” She meant to say “remembering things,” maybe. Or “doing things right.” But it didn’t come out right, whatever she was trying to say. Dimitri was smiling at her, and Marianne realized he had two dimples on the right side of his face and none on the left, and she looked down at her lap again.

They sat in silence like that, and Marianne didn’t dare to look up. She wondered if she should take another bite of her tart, or throw it away entirely. She hesitantly nibbled on an edge, and cast a glance at Dimitri, but he wasn’t looking at her, anymore.

If he asked her a question, she decided, she could always run away. She took another bite of her tart, and flakes scattered around her.

“Rats, I think.”

“I'm sorry?” Marianne asked.

“They’re worried if we leave food around the monastery, it’ll attract rats,” Dimitri explained. He looked over at her and gave her another sympathetic smile. “They’re not just inventing rules to torture you. At least, I don’t think.”

“Oh,” Marianne said. “I won’t do it again. I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”

Dimitri shrugged, but it was too intentional to look properly careless. “I'm not in charge, Marianne. I don’t care,” he said, and she didn’t quite believe him but she wasn’t sure which part she didn’t believe. He added, quickly, “You’re always welcome to sit with me, if you’re worried. I admit I often have an open spot next to me. I’m . . . not great at small talk, it turns out.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Marianne said slowly, thinking about how the Blue Lions exclusively walked in twos and threes and fours on the way to class and lunch and the training grounds. She frowned. She rarely saw him alone. She couldn’t remember now if she’d ever seen him talking. She took a deep breath and spoke quietly enough that maybe he could pretend he didn’t hear her if what she said was stupid.

“You can come out here, if you want,” she said, quickly and softly. “If you don’t mind breaking the rules.”

Dimitri raised his eyebrows. “I’m afraid I don’t have much as experience as a troublemaker as you seem to have, Miss Edmund,” he said, and if he hadn’t been so obviously trying to let her down gently, Marianne would have laughed at the accusation. He paused, then added, “But I suppose I can chase the rats away from you, if that would help.”

“I don’t mind rats, you know,” Marianne said, more defensive on their behalf than on her own. “Maybe they’re just hungry.”

Dimitri did laugh at this, low and deep and delighted, and Marianne tried to remember if she’d ever heard him laugh before. “I’ve never thought of that before,” he admitted. “But I’m afraid you won’t have much use for me, otherwise.”

“Dorte likes the extra company, I think, sometimes,” Marianne said, after thinking about it for a moment.

Dimitri nodded. “I’m not generally called good company, but perhaps Dorte has different standards,” he said thoughtfully. He cast a glance towards Dorte’s stall, just out of eyeline unless you tilted your head, and Marianne noted the way his hair fell in his eyes whenever he moved too quickly. He looked back at her and things settled into place again. “And you?” he asked.

Marianne took the final bite of the tart, and somehow still managed to send flakes flying in every direction. Dimitri did not appear to notice, nor did he appear to mind as she slowly thought over the question.

“As long as you’re nice to the rats,” she said finally.

Dimitri closed his eyes and nodded solemnly. “I promise,” he replied.

Marianne had run out of things to say, and braced herself for a follow up question. It never came. Perhaps Dimitri was as bad at small talk as he claimed. Perhaps he was waiting for her to say something. Perhaps she would regret everything when she got back to her room and realized she’d missed some moment, some obvious cue, some thing she was supposed to do that she had been too stupid to remember.

But for now, Marianne leaned against the box behind her, and absently brushed crumbs off her skirt, and listened to the birds starting up an afternoon song. And for once in her life, when the bell tower struck one, she almost felt that the lunch hour had ended too soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Right before publishing this I had a moment of panic that the game didn't actually have something called "Fruit and Herring Tart" and I'd just read it wrong. I looked it up. That is the correct name. 
> 
> Maybe it's like a pineapple salsa? I'm skeptical but okay.  
> 
> 
> [You can find me on twitter.](https://twitter.com/Rose3Writes)


End file.
